


A Binding Trust

by SaintLilin



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, In chapter two there will be, Multiple Orgasms, No Beta I'm Nervous And Have No Friends, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Size Kink, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, because charles is a unit, v mild but it's there, why does all my smut come with a handful of fluff i'm having an identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintLilin/pseuds/SaintLilin
Summary: There’s no gratification comparable to the feeling of being bound by Charles.Alternatively; Charles Smith is a Service Top and in this essay I will--
Relationships: Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption)/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

With every pass of the rope over your collarbones and around your breasts you feel your shoulders relax and drop away from your ears, eyes closed and head lolling forward comfortably while Charles’ fingers slip against your skin to thread one piece of rope through another, securing loops here and tying closures there with careful and intuitive expertise. The usually tight clench of your jaw unhinges and your lips part to take in slow, deep breaths, body moving with the direction of each testing tug, loose and limp and decidedly pliant. 

There’s no gratification more instant nor comparable to the feeling of being bound by Charles. The act has always been exciting intellectually, having infested your thoughts far before you considered it might become a reality, but never had you anticipated the euphoria of succumbing to someone else's hands. The soothing caress of his fingers preceding the pass of well-loved and conditioned rope sends you to a space where you only need to be active in enjoying the sensations. There’s no telling where you start and the rope ends with the feeling of it pressing into your skin and along your ribs, slipping between the folds at your side and stomach. Restricting, binding, but not suffocating, to you or your lungs. 

With the final knot slipping comfortably over your wrists Charles’ hands stop their roaming to meet yours at the small of your back. He rubs them gently to encourage proper blood flow, and you squeeze his fingers to let him know everything feels alright. It’s unspoken, as most things with Charles are. He’s not a man of many words but his voice is a comfort to you, a sweet indulgence, and when you want it most Charles is always happy to oblige. It’s deep and honeyed when he whispers,  _ “I’ll take care of you,”  _ the promise sliding along your skin the same way his tongue would. The same way it does when you give him an affirming squeeze back. With a broad stroke, he licks his way up the slope of your shoulder and along the column of your neck, guiding a sigh to fall from your mouth.

His teeth follow your pulse the same way his blunt nails follow the curve of your knee up along your thigh, your hips canting both to retrieve his touch and rub against the erection pressing through his boxers. Each inch of skin his fingers drag over prickles with an intensity only he can cause, goosebumps racing after him and disappearing like breath on a cold pane of glass. When he finally reaches the crease of your hip and his lips brush against the corner of your mouth you make one small, needy whimper; an unconscious call to him that he returns in a heartbeat. 

Words often need to be coaxed out of Charles, but sounds come freely and honestly. When his hot tongue slips along the tip of your own he moans lowly, hungrily diving in over and over again, coaxing your head back so he can slowly and languidly savor the first part of his meal. He drinks your noises when the rough pads of his fingers roll and twist at your nipples, sending shivers and pulses of heat down your back to settle at your core. When he pulls back you allow your eyes to fall open for the first time since he settled your knees onto your cushion.

Seeing him floods you with a new wave of need, the warm evening light making his wet lips glisten and the inky black of his hair shine almost blue. It catches in his eye, allowing you a glimpse at his completely blown pupils and how they drag all over your face, from the flush on your cheeks down to your parted lips and back to your own eyes. He holds your gaze when he presses his ring and middle finger past your teeth, massaging over and caressing under your tongue. 

“Open up for me,” he says, and you let your mouth hang as wide as is comfortable. It’s almost like he’s playing with you when he hooks his fingers at the corners of your mouth, drool slipping down his knuckles and over your chin, but you gladly sit as his toy to manipulate and mold, eager especially when the hand at your chest drops away to finally pay attention to your pulsing core. 

Your eyelids flutter when his digits part your lips to tease at your entrance, testing your readiness. He makes a show of spreading his fingers and watching the clear liquid stretch between them in the sunlight. You mewl again, licking at the hand still in your mouth to get his attention. He smiles when he turns back to you, kissing your temple. 

“My good girl,” he whispers, palm dragging against your clit when he finally presses two fingers into you. He’s gentle at first, is always gentle, but when you finally get a feel of him inside you you’re both made keenly aware just how pent up and needy you are. The slow and stretching pumps of his fingers are deliberately pragmatic, but you can feel your body squeezing and pulsing around them, feel the coil at your center tightening. Charles can too, rubs up against the spot you’re most sensitive at with a knowing chuckle. The rising volume in your voice doesn’t meet your ear until then, when you let out a near shrieking moan. 

“Do you want me to slow down?” he asks, beginning to move the fingers in your mouth in time with the fingers inside your cunt. You shake your head as much as you can, pleading with your eyes when his hips roll against your ass. You can feel him straining in his boxers, the coolness of the wet fabric brushing against you. You  _ want _ that part of him, but need your release all the same. His fingers pick up in pace, curling with every withdrawal to hit that spot inside you while his palm rubs against your clit. With his lips pressed against your ear he breathes in a hot and heavy whisper, “You gonna come for me?” and that’s all it takes to shove you over the edge. 

You don’t hear your own shouts despite how loud they are, can barely feel the way your arms strain against their restraints when you shake. All you feel is Charles’ skin on yours and wave after wave of white-hot gratification. 

When you finally reach the end of your climax and begin to shudder and buck Charles removes both sopping wet hands from between your thighs and mouth to gently pull you to lean on him. The change in position makes you gasp, your sore legs finally coming out from under your bottom. He makes quick work of rubbing your thighs to keep them from cramping and slowly brings each leg to rest fully out in front of you, all the while whispering sweet praises and kissing your cheek. 

When you’re sitting cross-legged on your (now wet) cushion he squeezes the hands tied at your back, asking if you feel any tingles or soreness. There’s none to speak of, and as he stands to grab a water bottle for the both of you you admire with a smile the length pressing against his pants. Always the caretaker, you think with a warmth in your chest when he holds the water up to your lips first, letting you gulp away. He wipes a few drops that slip down the corner of your mouth for you, though you reckon it’s more out of habit than trying to actually clean you up, the mess of saliva on your breasts still cooling in the air. You kiss his palm when it lingers on your cheek, smile coquettishly when you nip at his thumb. 

The pulsing ache at the pit in your stomach was still impatiently raring to go, satiated for only a moment from your earlier orgasm. Your eyes drop to the black boxer briefs barely containing Charles’ cock, the slightly wet spot that soaked through the fabric impossibly close to his hip. You pull yourself onto your knees and pointedly drop your mouth open, watching Charles’ mouth quirk slightly before he takes a step forward. 

“That’s my girl.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lack of charles content out there is criminal. you're all going to jail. get to writing i stg.
> 
> as with all my oneshots i'm posting this in a flurry of mania and will be back to reread it once the anxiety of having posted something possible terrible hits. see you guys in T minus 2 hours.
> 
> N. E. way I hope you enjoyed! part two will be on the way because we can NOT leave my boy hanging like that.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles’ hands were one of your favorite parts about him. Long, thick fingers, palms roughened from hard labor. Whenever he was within reach they would be on you; settled on the small of your back, smoothing across the space between your shoulder blades, interlocked with your own. A tree would feel small with his hand pressed against it—not in comparison to size but with the promise of security. When the back of his scarred knuckle brushes along your cheekbone you nuzzle into it, let him pull you forward so your nose presses against his straining bulge. You open up to mouth wetly at the thick head.

Charles sighs, letting you soak his boxers and lick at him from outside of them. When he pulls back and hooks his thumbs under the elastic waistband you swallow, thighs squeezing together.

Everything about Charles is big. From his broad shoulders to his tree-trunk thighs to the cock that hangs between them. Heavy and thick with a ruddy, wet head. You open your mouth wider this time, stick out your tongue in an open invitation for him to slide right in. Instead of taking your mouth there, he kneels in front of you and scoops you off the floor with almost insulting ease. You gasp and squeeze your legs around his waist, smiling into the needy kiss he presses against you, tongue playing with your own. 

You hardly register the few steps he takes to bring you to the bed, settling you gently on the cool sheets and kneeling next to your head. The flush on his deep skin has spread down his neck and over his heaving chest, dark eyes darting all over the length of your body like he’s been invited to a buffet and isn’t sure where to start.

It’s so endearing you can’t wipe the giddy smirk off your face. He takes care of it for you when his fingers are back at your entrance, three this time that slip in with ease. You gasp and writhe against his palm, but right before you’re able to fully enjoy it he pulls back. You stare up at him questioningly until he begins to rub his wet fingers over his cock, making a show of the way he slicks himself up with your arousal. You drink it all in, the way his foreskin pulls down his shaft and over his thick head, peeking out through the ring made by his forefinger and thumb. It’s hypnotic, and by the time he stops to press the wet head against your tongue you’d completely forgotten what was lubricating his hand. It’s tangy and odd on your pallet, but your hesitance passes quick like a breeze. There mixed with his heady and salty precum and gone when Charles’ full, low moan reaches your ears. 

Without the use of your hands or arms, the full weight of his cock rests on your tongue, slipping into your mouth with minimal effort on either side. Even still you crane your neck to take more of him, eager and ready. Charles presses his hips forward with a controlled patience, inching himself into your hot, wet mouth slowly so as not to choke you. His fingers slide through your hair, brush along your jaw and ghost down your torso with feather light touches until he reaches your clit, rolling his fingers around and over it with a firm pressure. You moan around his cock, hips arching up into his touch. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, pressing the head further down your throat. 

You consciously relax as much as you can, able to take him a little more than halfway down before your eyes water and throat spasms. On your back he’s more careful, pulling back to allow you to swallow the saliva pooling before pushing back in. Some days he’s able to work your throat so carefully and thoroughly you can ease him past your gag reflex, the curls at the base of his cock tickle your lips, but with the shallow and teasing thrusts he gives now you don’t think today will be one of those days. Just as the thought comes into your head he pulls back, threads of sticky spit still connecting your mouth to his cock when he bends over to kiss you. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. You nod, tongue poking out to lick into his mouth once more. He shifts on the bed so his hips press against yours, slowly rubbing his cock between your lips, splitting you open even before the thick head begins to push into you. 

You feel the blunt edge of his fingernails dig into your hips as much as the stretch in your cunt, focus on the sweat slicking his temples as much as the burning pleasure in your stomach. His fingers splay over the curve of your mound to feel himself fill you up from the outside and you watch his hand rise as he further slides in, the crease between his brows deepen right before the press of his balls meet the curve of your ass. 

Leaning back to take in your entire form, his eyes bounce from the blush on your face to the shiny gleam where his cock splits you open, holding the former as his hips give a testing roll. There’s almost no resistance to speak of on your part, despite the way your walls clench around him. 

“You fit so perfectly,” he groans, thrusting again with more confidence. 

It’s a rhythm you’ll never tire of, the steady and blinding in-and-out. His hips don’t slam into yours to keep from pounding your cervix but instead smoothly focus on rubbing against the plush spot in the front that has your toes curling. On every odd stroke he’ll push all the way in just to hear you gasp from it. The cocky little smiles those particularly high pitched pants earn are made even more endearing when they get wiped away with a wanton groan because  _ Christ, _ his voice. His moans. Grunts. Even just a slightly vocal inflection hanging on the end of a sigh are enough to send a wave of shivers along your heated skin.

Your thighs slip down his hips when his thumb rolls over your clit, quick little circles that occasionally lose their perfect rhythm when you squeeze around him. Your hands fist uselessly at your back, bottom lip getting caught between your teeth. Charles bends forward to press kisses between your breasts, licks a line from your sternum to your nipple and lavishes one before the other. His tongue is slow, unlike his fingers and hips. In an effort to either fall to the background or arrest your attention, you can’t tell. It achieves both and drives you closer towards the edge with every pulse in your core. One foot plants on the mattress to leverage your hips against him, the other pressing against his waist in a desperate attempt to chase after what he was offering you. 

Your second orgasm creeps along your nerves quietly, gently, and then crashes against you. Your whole body tenses and pulses in time with Charles’ still-working hips, and finger, and mouth, the vibrations from his moans tingling in a way that upsets every drop of sweat on your skin. 

It’s so good and so,  _ so _ much.

The rush of blood in your ears, inability to control the tremble of your thighs against Charles’ hips, the pinch of your arms held behind your back. It’s all almost too much, but when you finally crack open your eyes and see Charles’ gaze focused intently on yours it fades into a gentle white noise. His full lips quirk in a tired smile--so sweet and toothy and lazy and lopsided--and his fingers brush a bit of hair out from the corner of your mouth. Naked and bound and spread out for his eyes you only need to be reminded it’s his skin on yours to know you’re safe. 

His lips work smoothly against you as the aftershock of your previous orgasm has your legs twitching, strong arms holding your body against his to flip you over to rest on his chest instead of your back. You lay almost completely limp against him, breasts pressed against his hot skin and heartbeats only a few inches away. You mouth at the scar on his jaw, run your tongue over his salty skin.

“You’re so good,” he croons into your ear, the fingers curled at the back of your head dragging gentle circles over your scalp and down the nape of your neck. “Too fucking good to me.”

His palms slip along your sweaty hips to interlock with the hands pressed against the base of your spine. You squeeze him once, hard and firm and he kisses you just the same.

He moves you once more so you're both on your side facing each other, one leg propped up against his hip as he makes long, deep thrusts into you. Your recycled breath tickles the other’s face, oxygen almost hard to find between the small space you’re willing to allow between your lips. 

Charles’ hands are grabby when he gets close to his climax, squeezing the thick meat on your hip and thigh, lifting your leg higher and manhandling you closer to him. All the while the hand wrapped around your shoulder keeps your chests flush together. As close as he can get you without swallowing your person whole, and then pushing that limit when his thrusts grow slicker, the sounds of his cock pistoning into you wetter and sloppier. Spilling himself into you with a bruising grip on your thigh. His eyes are barely open, but burning into you.

As his hips begin to slow, stutter and finally stop, you rub your leg gently over his, feel his smile instead of see it. Your hearts beat in a slow tandem, every muscle melting. You whine petulantly when Charles begins to move, but it’s only met with a breathy chuckle and your stomach pressing against the sheets.

Removing the rope is as meditative as putting them on, for you and for Charles.. You hum when his weight settles on the back of your thighs, the first knot slipping undone feeling akin to a deep, heavy sigh. Charles takes effective but gentle measures to remove each length of rope from your skin. The blood flows with sharp edges down your arms and stabs into your fingers. Charles bends and moves them gently for you, helps you curl your arms and settle them into their natural resting position slowly. Just as his fingerprints had preceded the rope when he laid it onto you, his lips trace the rivers carved into your skin as they’re revealed, press lightly over the more tender spot. 

When the final link of rope gets pulled from under you Charles tosses it to the side and you flip over to roll out your shoulders. For the first time since you started you’re able to reach out to him, run your fingers over the planes of his stomach over his defined pectorals. Hold him back when he leans forward to envelope you. Run your fingers through his long, thick hair.

The room is a deep dark blue and illuminated just enough to make out odd shapes. Charles’ chest slowly lifts and drops against your breast as he breathes, fingers lightly running along the paths left by the rope, tracing their mark. You’ll take a shower together once you’ve both recovered enough to move, take turns washing each other’s hair and rub lotion into each other’s skin. Charles will insist on making you dinner and you’ll squeeze in to help where you can, eat with his foot caught between your ankles and his hand tucked between your thigh. But right now, laying in Charles’ sweat and spend and feeling him limp in your arms, you kiss him sweetly and relish in the feeling of a special, finite world where nothing but you and your lover exist. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaannd scene. jeez louise this was so much fun to write. i love charles. love him so mf much. 
> 
> i WILL be back to feed y'all some more of dear old Mr. Smith in the near future, but until then feel free to say hello on Twitter @Saint_Lilin ! mebe? meybeee?
> 
> (if there are any typos, inconsistencies or errors they're 100% my fault. english is my first language there's no excuse)


End file.
